Chapter Fifteen: The Scent of an Approaching Storm

Chapter Fifteen: The Scent of an Approaching Storm

Fan Lanzhou made little introduction, merely leading the three of them into a side room. With a single glance, Fang Junmei was immediately taken aback once more.

The furnishings were simple and unremarkable, but what stood out most was the unmoving old man lying on the wooden couch. He was about seven feet tall, dressed in a plain gray robe, his graying hair cascading across the pillow. His face was square and deeply lined with wrinkles, making him appear rather aged. Aside from this, there was nothing unusual. His eyes were closed, revealing nothing of his character or spirit.

Fang Junmei, sharp of eye and ear, could clearly sense the faintest breath from the old man—he wasn’t dead, merely asleep. But what did this mean?

...

“He is our master—Daoist Cuotuo. He suffered a calamity and has been trapped in this strange sleep for nearly two hundred years. Kowtow to him three times, and you’ll be considered a disciple. Any other formalities, you can complete once Master awakens,” Fan Lanzhou explained.

So that was it.

Fang Junmei understood, his brows knitting slightly in concern. To become the disciple of a master who lay in endless slumber… who knew what would come of his cultivation? But at this point, the matter was out of his hands.

“Disciple Fang Junmei pays his respects to Master!”

He knelt and respectfully knocked his head three times on the ground.

Naturally, Daoist Cuotuo gave no reply.

After a few moments, Fan Lanzhou said, “You may rise.”

Fang Junmei stood. Fan Lanzhou then began to explain the sect’s rules—nothing unusual, just the typical admonitions to respect one’s elders and never harm one’s fellow disciples. He also introduced Fang Junmei to his senior brother and sister.

The man was named Linghu Jiu, the woman Yang Xiaoman.

“Fifth Brother, from now on, you’ll look after Master when not cultivating. There are several side rooms on the peak—besides mine and Linghu’s, feel free to choose one to live in. If none suit you, you can build your own. Linghu, I leave Fifth Brother’s cultivation in your hands,” Fan Lanzhou said coolly. With that, he ignored the three, turning to leave.

“I have to cultivate too!” Linghu Jiu called after him, his voice hoarse and unwilling, but Fan Lanzhou paid no heed.

“Third Brother, thank you for your trouble,” Yang Xiaoman said with a mischievous grin, winking at Fang Junmei. She teased, “Little Brother, my cultivation spot is in Hundred Flowers Valley on the southeastern slope. Come by and help me find my flaws when you’re free.”

With a chuckle, she departed as well.

Now, in the side room, only the sleeping Daoist Cuotuo, Fang Junmei, and Linghu Jiu remained.

...

The two stared at each other awkwardly. Fang Junmei was unsure how to begin, when suddenly his stomach rumbled, hunger gnawing at him.

Linghu Jiu gave him a bleary-eyed look, twisting his wrist and, from who knows where, produced a small porcelain bottle. He tossed it to Fang Junmei. “These are called Fasting Pills. One will keep you full for ten days. I don’t need them anymore, so you can have them. But once you finish them, you’ll have to fend for yourself—either hunt for food or raise your cultivation so you’ll never suffer mortal hunger again.”

“Thank you, Third Brother.”

Fang Junmei accepted the bottle, opened the lid, and saw about a dozen green pills the size of fingernails. A sweet scent wafted out, and even just inhaling it made him feel as if he’d eaten a hearty meal, the hunger easing.

Immortal pills truly were miraculous.

He took one, and it melted instantly in his mouth, a warm and curious sensation spreading through his stomach. In moments, his hunger vanished.

“Come with me. Now that you’re a disciple, I’ll take you to collect the items for new initiates,” said Linghu Jiu.

He stepped outside, murmured some incantation, and a cloud of white mist appeared at his feet, lifting him into the air. Despite his drunkenness, Linghu Jiu now seemed every bit a wine immortal.

“Fifth Brother, hop on!” he called.

Fang Junmei’s eyes shone with excitement. Was he truly about to experience flying through the sky today?

Noticing his excitement, Linghu Jiu’s gaze softened for the first time.

Fang Junmei leapt onto the cloud. It felt like stepping onto cotton—soft, yet firm, a sensation beyond words.

“Let’s go,” Linghu Jiu said again, guiding the cloud with both of them in a certain direction.

...

This was Fang Junmei’s first time riding a cloud while awake. The unreality of it swept over him as he gazed down at the vast mountains and rivers, the tiny figures below. It was an experience beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

Linghu Jiu deliberately increased their speed, but after a brief moment of swaying, Fang Junmei found his balance. He possessed both courage and the ability to master his strength. If he couldn’t even handle this, he’d truly be unworthy.

Along the way, other cultivators flew past—some on swords, some on clouds, others riding spirit birds. Each time they passed, they cast Linghu Jiu and Fang Junmei meaningful, even strange, smiles. Few greeted Linghu Jiu.

He offered Fang Junmei no explanations.

Soon, they reached another mountain, this one bustling with activity. Rows of buildings, streams of people weaving in and out—it looked like a busy marketplace. There were hundreds of people, most carrying swords—many with nearly identical designs, living up to the sect’s reputation.

“This is Steward Peak. All the steward tasks in our Peach Source Sword Sect are assigned and exchanged here. The Scripture Pavilion, Punishment Hall, and other places for trade are also here. You’ll have time to explore in the future,” Linghu Jiu said simply.

Their arrival attracted even more attention.

“So that’s the new kid?”

“He doesn’t look like much.”

“Are you saying the Sect Leader and elders misjudged him? Or do you think your own judgment is better?”

“Be careful, Senior Brother, I meant no such thing.”

“Just teasing you, ha ha.”

The voices drifted up. Though they sounded playful, Fang Junmei could sense the undercurrent of wariness and competition.

This Peach Blossom Source was no peaceful retirement haven. To stand firm, one needed true strength.

They landed before a tall, nameless building. Dismissing the cloud, Linghu Jiu said nothing, simply leading Fang Junmei inside.

Once they were gone, the discussions below grew even louder.

...

“I heard that kid made Li Siqi, that noble brat, lose a lot of face last time. If the Sect Leader or an elder took him as a disciple, Li Siqi wouldn’t dare touch him. But since he’s under Daoist Cuotuo, he’s in for a rough time,” said a young man in black robes, standing beneath a great tree with another youth in blue.

The black-robed youth was tall and handsome, with a sharp, ruthless look—standing there like a drawn sword. He smirked as he gazed toward the tall building, meaning in his eyes.

News travels fast on this mountain.

“Senior Brother, why do I sense your fighting spirit? Can this newcomer who hasn’t even begun cultivation truly interest you?” the blue-robed youth asked, his voice gentle and steady.

“Don’t joke,” the black-robed youth snorted. “So he saw through a few flaws in the Flower Sword Art? That’s nothing—especially since it was Li Siqi using it. Among our peers in Peach Source Sword Sect, only Gu Xijin and that fellow from Immovable Peak intrigue me. Pity he’s left the sect.”

The blue-robed youth smiled. “Senior Brother, the others on Immovable Peak are reclusive and rarely reveal their strength. If you face them, be careful not to suffer a loss.”

“Yes, yes,” the other replied impatiently. Suddenly, he grinned. “There aren’t many years left until the next sect competition. In the past, they could opt out, but this time they’ll have to participate. I’m looking forward to seeing what they can do.”

“Why is that?” asked the blue-robed youth.

“Sect rules: every century, the Peak Masters change. Outer sect elders can challenge inner sect elders for the position. Because their master is asleep, the disciples must compete in their stead. Last two times, that guy single-handedly kept Immovable Peak’s name. Now he’s gone, and Fan Lanzhou’s group must step up,” the black-robed youth explained.

The blue-robed youth nodded in understanding.

“If they want to keep enjoying the sect’s offerings and a life of leisure without doing any tasks, they’ll have to prove their strength,” the black-robed youth added.

“Let’s go. We’ve been out too long—I need to get back to training,” he finished.

The two summoned their flying swords and soared away.

...

Inside the tall building, they entered a hall lined with several rooms, each door closed. Linghu Jiu didn’t bother to knock, simply pushed one open and strode in with Fang Junmei.

A stocky, square-faced middle-aged man sat inside, calculating something at his desk. The sudden entrance made his displeasure clear.

“Linghu Jiu, have you been drinking horse piss again? Can’t you knock before entering?” the man grumbled.

“We’ve never gotten along, so why pretend to be courteous? Just give my little junior his new disciple’s kit and we’ll be out of here. You think I enjoy sharing a room with you?” Linghu Jiu retorted bluntly, full of bravado.

Fang Junmei couldn’t help but smile. Clearly, this senior was a character—but this lack of guile might just be an act.